_Rut._ How might a man atchieve that place? a rare Custom! An admirable rare Custom: and none excepted? _Arn._ None, none. _Rut._ The rarer still: how could I lay about me, In this rare Office? are they born to it, or chosen? _Arn._ Both equal damnable. _Rut._ Me thinks both excellent, Would I were the next heir. _Arn._ To this mad fortune Am I now come, my Marriage is proclaim'd, And nothing can redeem me from this mischief. _Rut._ She's very young. _Arn._ Yes. _Rut._ And fair I dare proclaim her, Else mine eyes fail. _Arn._ Fair as the bud unblasted. _Rut._ I cannot blame him then, if 'twere mine own case, I would not go an Ace less. _Arn._ Fye _Rutilio_, Why do you make your brothers misery Your sport and game? _Rut._ There is no pastime like it. _Arn._ I look'd for your advice, your timely Counsel, How to avoid this blow, not to be mockt at, And my afflictions jeer'd. _Rut._ I tell thee _Arnoldo_, An thou wert my Father, as thou art but my Brother, My younger Brother too, I must be merry. And where there is a wench yet can, a young wench, A handsome wench, and sooner a good turn too, An I were to be hang'd, thus must I handle it. But you shall see Sir, I can change this habit To do you any service; advise what you please, And see with what Devotion I'le attend it? But yet me thinks, I am taken with this Custom, [_Enter_ Charino _and_ Zenocia. And could pretend to th' place. _Arn._ Draw off a little; Here comes my Mistress and her Father. _Rut._ A dainty wench! Wou'd I might farm his Custom. _Char._ My dear Daughter, Now to bethink your self of new advice Will be too late, later this timeless sorrow, No price, nor prayers, can infringe the fate Your beauty hath cast on yo[u], my best _Zenocia_, Be rul'd by me, a Fathers care directs ye, Look on the Count, look chearfully and sweetly; What though he have the power to possess ye, To pluck your Maiden honour, and then slight ye By Custom unresistible to enjoy you; Yet my sweet Child, so much your youth and goodness, The beauty of your soul, and Saint-like Modesty, Have won upon his mild mind, so much charm'd him, That all power laid aside, what Law allows him, Or sudden fires, kindled from those bright eyes, He sues to be your servant, fairly, nobly For ever to be tyed your faithful Husband: Consider my best child. _Zeno._ I have considered. _Char._ The blessedness that this breeds too, consider Besides your Fathers Honour, your own peace, The banishment for ever of this Custom, This base and barbarous use, for after once He has found the happiness of holy Marriage, And what it is to grow up with one Beauty, How he will scorn and kick at such an heritage Left him by lust and lewd progenitors. All Virgins too, shall bless your name, shall Saint it, And like so many Pilgrims go to your shrine, When time has turn'd your beauty into ashes, Fill'd with your pious memory. _Zeno._ Good Father Hide not that bitter Pill I loath to swallow In such sweet words.